


Childhood Injury

by orphan_account



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Not all scars come from being a super spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie's asking about Peggy's scars, and learns not all of them are from being an agent</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childhood Injury

**Author's Note:**

> I’m pretty sure it was toodrunktofindaurl who said something about Angie wanting to find out the backstories to all of Peggy’s scars. Yes? (correct me if I’m wrong). Anyway, I randomly thought about that today, and not all of her scars could’ve come from being a secret agent. (I’m willing to bet all of you have a scar from childhood). So here’s this.

“What’s this one from?” Angie asked, trailing a long, thin scar down Peggy’s calf.

They were laying on the mattress together and Angie had made it her mission to find out the backstory to all of Peggy’s scars. For once, Peggy didn’t brush her aside and change the subject.

“I got it while I was in Berlin,” Peggy explained. Despite the seriousness of the topic, the older woman was twirling a piece of Angie’s hair between her fingers and wearing a lazy smile. “A bomb went off not too far from where I was standing, and a piece of debris got lodged there. I’m lucky it wasn’t any worse.”

“Jesus, English,” Angie gasped. She shivered at the thought of some doctor having to dig out a piece of metal from Peggy’s leg, but Peggy just chuckled lowly and pulled her in for a kiss.

“You’re the one who asked,” Peggy pointed out as she pulled back.

Angie shrugged and crawled into Peggy’s lap, grabbing one of the older woman’s hands and lacing their fingers together. On the thumb, she noticed a small white line — probably at least a decade old. “What about this one?”

“Which one?” Peggy mumbled, having stopped paying attention to bury her nose in the golden-brown hair. 

“The one on your thumb.”

Peggy stiffened and Angie wondered what memories a scar so tiny could have brought up. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Peggy said shortly, yanking her hand back from Angie.

“I’m sorry,” Angie whispered, mentally cursing herself for having asked. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

Peggy sighed and shook her head, wrapping her arms tightly around Angie. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not anything traumatic, I promise you.”

“If it’s not that bad, then why can’t I know?” Angie was still using the saddest possible tone, hoping Peggy would fall for it and reveal the truth behind the little scar.

When Peggy groaned, Angie knew she had won. “It’s incredibly embarrassing,” she sighed, but Angie gave her the biggest puppy-dog eyes she could, begging her to go on. “It’s from my childhood.”

“Really?” Angie squeaked. It wasn’t very often Peggy spoke about her younger years, and Angie was always desperate to know what she had been like as a child. Probably running about the English countryside chasing all the boys.

“My mother was sick and couldn’t get out of bed, so I decided I would cook dinner.” Angie wrinkled her nose at the thought. Twice she had seen Peggy try to cook, and both times ended in utter disaster. “Only I couldn’t cook.”

“No shit,” Angie muttered.

The glare from Peggy shut her up quickly enough. “I was only six… I can’t remember how no one caught me rummaging about the kitchen, but I managed to make a complete disaster of it. There was flour and salt everywhere. And then I decided we needed vegetables, and since I always saw my mother chop them, I thought I might do the same.”

“Oh no,” Angie whispered under her breath.

“I almost chopped off my thumb,” Peggy admitted. “My father walked in to see me crying, surrounded by flour and blood. I thought he was angry at the mess I’d made, rather than the fact I’d hurt myself.”

Since telling the story, Peggy had once again allowed Angie to hold her hand and look at the scar. Angie brought it up to her lips and gave the little scar a kiss.

“Poor baby Pegs,” Angie said, although she found the image incredibly sweet. “Your dad was mad at you?

“I don’t think he was pleased with me almost cutting off my finger, no,” Peggy said with a smirk. “Fortunately, there was a doctor living near us, and he put me back together. And he wasn’t half as angry as my mother was when she saw the condition of our kitchen.”

“She was really mad over a little bit of flour?” Peggy bit her bottom lip, and Angie thought back to the time the English woman had tried to bake a cake. “Oh dear god, it wasn’t like that one time you…”

“I was six!” Peggy said defensively, but Angie was laughing too hard to hear her.

“I’m never lettin’ you near our kitchen again!” she said after calming down, still clutching her sides. 

“If you do that, I won’t be able to make you tea,” Peggy pointed out with a playful smile.

Angie pretended to think it over, and eventually came up with a compromise. “I guess I can supervise.”

“How kind of you,” the older woman said dryly, but Angie started giggling again at the thought of little- Peggy covered in flour, trying to cut vegetables.

“I gotta call Mr. Fancy and ask him to teach you to cook.” Angie was sure the other scars on Peggy’s body were all testament to how many times she’d danced with death, but it baffled her how the woman could survive long enough to make it even that far, without having the ability to prepare an edible meal. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! You can find me on Tumblr at rosebythesea.tumblr.com if you'd like. Tell me what you think!


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